


Dead by Dawn

by BlackMamba



Category: 1987 - Fandom, 1993) - Fandom, Evil Dead series (1981 - Fandom
Genre: Character of Color, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMamba/pseuds/BlackMamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Ash. And I am a barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead by Dawn

 

 

My name is Ash. 

 

And I am a barista. 

 

Never really cared much for coffee or espresso—couldn’t stand the bitter aftertaste. Just wasn’t my thing.  But getting fired from S-Mart didn’t leave me many options other than to join the ranks of the frothy no whip crowd.  Apparently blowing away evil spirits with a sawed-off in front of twenty customers is against store policy.  Either that or they were pissed that I broke their display.

 

Cheap fucks.

 

I got half way through my explanation before they called the cops and had me carted to the cuckoo wing of County General.  A slobbering possessed hag tries to gnaw on my face and _I’m _the one who’s crazy.  I heard they tried to play it off as a mass hallucination (yeah—cause _that’s_ realistic) brought on by some gas leak they never found. 

 

Whatever—they were alive because of me.  Yeah, I’m the one that found the Necronomicon (Book of the Dead for the not so literate) and yeah I’m the one that released the deadites into the world but to be fair, I had no way of knowing that old tape recorder contained some ancient incantation bullshit when I found it.  I was thinking romantic music—something to get my girlfriend Linda in the mood for a little _dinner beneath the bridge_ if you know what I’m saying. 

 

No?

 

I wanted a blow job okay. 

 

Needless to say I now stay the hell away from strange stereo equipment (Including IPOD’s—how the hell am I supposed to know what kind of fucked up podcast you’ve been listening to).   I’ve been fighting these things off ever since I pressed that play button—even traveled through time once to save the word from total damnation.




 

Long story—shitty ending.

 

Anyway, I thought I sent them back but no dice.  A few of those ugly fucks leaked through.  They pop up every now and then with those creepy white eyes and scraggly ass teeth they develop all of a sudden. And let me tell you that shit’s more contagious than the clap, hence my lack of one hand.  I still do my best to send them back to the hellhole they crawled out of—I’ve just learned to be less chatty about it to the neighbors.

 

But here’s the thing—I’m sick of this shit. 

 

Yeah it was cool at first—playing hero—toting the shotgun and building a kick ass metal prosthetic super strong hand from a gauntlet and medieval chainmail (it’s a hobby), not to mention slicing the evil fucks down the middle of their gut with a chainsaw.  I mean who wouldn’t get a kick out of _that?_  But after a while the constant running gets old—blood stains are a motherfucker and shirts are expensive when you’re living on seven bucks an hour plus tips.  Plus I haven’t gotten any ass since the S-Mart incident. 

 

 

If I don’t get laid soon I’m pretty sure I’ll start taking out civilians for the hell of it.  At five in the morning and feening for a caffeine fix, demons and humans can start looking the same if you squint hard enough.

 

 

Now I may have the chiseled features of a Greek Adonis and a cleft in my chin that Hercules would envy but I’m not delusional.  Standing there in my “Java Jamboree” smock I was nobody’s sexual fantasy.  I almost let it pass—took her money and ignored the distinct tingling in my pants.  But she smiled at me—touched my hand when she took her change—and asked what time my shift ended that night.  I took it as a sign my run of bad luck had passed and asked her out to dinner on the spot. 

 

She said yes---in spite of smock.

 

Should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right—but I was thinking with the wrong head and she had the kind of ass I’d only seen in Maxim layouts.  If I could get through the night without decapitating a possessed UPS guy I figured I was in. 

 

Or at least I’d get to feel a nipple—or an ass cheek.

 

Yeah—maybe an ass cheek.  

 

.

****

 

Shelby Conrad had only been with the FBI for two years before she was promoted to special operations.  Anyone else might have been surprised, but in her opinion it was about six months past due.  She graduated at the head of the pack from Quantico, always testing higher, running faster and shooting better than every other member of her class.  Being sent out in the field wasn’t much of a challenge and she’d closed more cases in the first five months than the four other agents in her section combined.

 

Her new division was under violent crimes—the “SF” or “Sick Fuck” unit as it was so lovingly called.  They investigated suspected serial murders—kept an eye on the single white thirtish male sector for any Dahmer type activities.  It was exactly the sort of challenge Shelby lived for and when she was finally given her first case subject she was ecstatic over the opportunity to finally prove herself as an agent.

 

But then she read the file.

 

Ashley J. Williams—a coffee shop employee with a metal hand and two unpaid speeding tickets.  It was a bit of a let down to say the least.  But then she read more about his history—how he got fired from his last job for taking out a crazy woman that tried to eat the other patrons and how bodies had been piling up around him ever since—she began to wonder if there wasn’t more to the loser than she’d originally believed. 

 

So she went undercover—got a false ID and some suburban slutty low riders on her way to Java Jamboree.  Getting his attention was a lot easier than she anticipated but after he’d hurried to the men’s room with an obvious boner she figured he was hard up. They made plans for dinner and a movie. Shelby offered to drive since she was staying a motel and didn’t want some twisted fuck creeping inside her window at night.  She kept the slutty jeans, added a slutty t-shirt and went over his file for the fifth time while she waited. 

 

It wouldn’t be long before she knew exactly what Ashley Williams was about—and why so many people turned up dead when was around.

 

 

****

 

A few months ago I wouldn’t have taken Shelby up on her offer to pick me up after work.  I learned a while back that accidental detours down dark country roads were a great way to get a lady in the mood.  But the last car I owned was trashed inside a time vortex thingy and I can’t afford a payment on the pebbles and crumbs I earn at the coffee bar--the city bus is my current mode of transportation.

 

I told her it was in the shop.

 

My goal was to avoid bloodshed at all costs.  Honestly, this was the hottest woman I’d ever been out with and I was determined not to fuck it up.  I put on the usual—blue shirt—brown pants and tried to decide whether to leave the shotgun at home.  I didn’t want to take the fucker—I’d have to wear a coat to hide it and I was tired of getting gun hickeys from the barrel digging into my back.  But in the end I chose the safe route and brought it along--packed a few extra bullets just in case.

 

She was as hot as I remembered—maybe hotter since she’d changed into a t-shirt that gave me an unobstructed view of what promised to be a fantastic set of nipples.  My goal was set at that point—rubbing, sucking, nibbling—I wanted all three.  Those beauties would definitely be mine before nightfall. 

 

“So where are we going?”  She asked me this as she tossed her hair.  She was flirting with me the sexy minx.

 

“I thought we’d try this Mexican place on Third.  It’s called El Gallo—you ever heard of it?”

 

“You want to take me to a place called The Cock?”  She smiled when she said it. I didn’t know what the fuck the word meant but I played along anyway.

 

“Absolutely,” I said as she pulled away from the curb.  “It’s got some of the best chicken dishes around.”

 

“Oh really,” she said.  She had a cute smile. “I thought you wanted me thinking about your dick.”

 

That’s when I knew she was the one.

 

 

****

 

The restaurant was a dump but the food wasn’t half bad.  Shelby inhaled a stack of fajitas and washed it down with more margaritas than she had any business drinking while she was on duty.  But there was something about Ash’s corny cocky sense of humor that made her loosen up a bit more than she wanted to.  Plus they’d been there an hour and there were no bodies in sight.  She was starting to wonder if the man in front of her even had the brains to pull off the carnage her superiors were trying to pin on him.

 

Plus the cleft _was _kind of cute.

 

“Hey Ignacio!” Ash clapped his hands and the short waiter rolled his eyes. “More tortilla chips por favor—and make sure they’re warm this time.”

 

“You’re pissing him off,” Shelby laughed. Ash dismissed her observation with a _pfft_ and a hand wave. 

 

“These guys love me.  Just last week I stopped the hostess from gnawing on the dishwasher’s—“Ash stopped abruptly and took a large swallow of his drink. Shelby shook her head and laughed.

  
”You can’t stop there—gnawing on the dishwasher’s what?”

 

“Sopapillas” Ash said, coughing loudly and nodding. “Yeah—uh sopa—hey Ignacio! Where are those chips?”

 

Ignacio shook his head as he made his way to the their table—a large basket overflowing with chips and salsa clutched in one hand.  “_El asno mudo chico blanco_,” he grumbled, tossing them on the center of the table.

 

Ash smiled and shook his head. “Please—no need for more gratitude.  You’ll embarrass me in front of my lady friend here.” He gestured towards Shelby and she raised her eyebrows as the waiter shuffled away. 

 

“I think he just called you a dumbass white boy,” she said, leaning forward to grab a chip.

 

“Noooo,” Ash said with a laugh.  He frowned, his eyes drawn to a small group of waiters who spoke rapidly in Spanish, making crude gestures in his direction.  “Really?”

 

_“¿Qué demonios fue eso?”_  Shelby turned around at a loud crash from the kitchen.  The waiters sprinted towards the back and she looked at Ash who’d risen in his chair. 

 

“What’s going on,” she asked

 

He glanced at her, laughed nervously, frowned and then forced a smile. “No idea.”  He threw down his napkin. “Could you excuse me for a minute Shelby? My eyes are floating—got to swing ‘round the little boys room.”

 

Shelby nodded slowly as he made his way to the back of the restaurant. She glanced around the dining room as it dawned on her that there’d been no other customers since they’d arrived.  Shelby reached for her drink, frowning and then spit it back into the glass when she heard a loud scream coming from the kitchen. 

 

Shelby pulled her gun and stood up so fast her chair fell to the ground.  She trained it on the kitchen door, her eyes narrowed as she tried to fight off the effects of the alcohol.  What the hell had she been thinking drinking like that?

 

She heard voices in between screams and what honestly sounded like—cackling?

 

_I’ll swallow your soul. _

_No, no—point the fire at her—at her!!_

_Eeeeeeheeeheeeeheheeeee!!!!_

_Shit she’s melting—get a pan—no not a sauce pan the big one!_

_¡La ayuda de dios nosotros!_

_Dead by dawn! Dead by daaawwwn!!!  I’ll swallow your soul!_

_Lady you’re black goo—good luck swallowing anything with no face. _

 

Shelby hesitated outside the door and flinched as something was slammed hard against the wall.  She was tried to process what she heard and had lifted her hand to push open the door when it swung open in front of her and Ignacio appeared—his face drenched in sweat and a roasting pan of black goo in his arms.  “Oh,” he cried.  “Senor Ash—your uh—friend is here.”

 

Shelby lowered her gun slightly as Ash’s face appeared, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. She raised it again and he lifted his arms, staring at the barrel in confusion.  “Whoa—whoa,” he said.

 

“Get out here _now_—all of you,” she shouted. 

 

_“¿Usted fecha a una policía que jode?”_ Ignacio glared at Ash who shook his head in confusion.

 

“I still don’t understand why you keep asking me questions in Spanish.”

 

“I’m not a fucking cop,” Shelby snapped. “I’m FBI,” she said.

 

“Fucking pig,” Ignacio spat.

 

“Just be glad I’m not immigration.” She stared at the black liquid oozing from the pan. “Or a health inspector—what the fuck is that?”

 

“Lady, you don’t wanna know,” Ash said.

 

Shelby lifted her gun higher and glared at him.  “It’s Special Agent—and yes—I do.”

 

 

****

 

She changed her tune after I gave her the whole freaky, gruesome story.  She didn’t believe me at first—most folks never do.  I told her how Ignacio’s place was a hotbed for evil spirits—the fuckers had infected the place like roaches.  That’s why it was empty—one too many possessions for the average citizen’s family night out.  They paid me cash to watch the place—save the odd ingénue in exchange for free food and liquor.  Yeah it was a stupid move on my part—taking the first date I’d had in months to a Deadite breeding ground.  But what can I say—I was broke as fuck.  Plus they hadn’t had a possession in over two weeks.

 

I took a shot. 

 

The black goo helped convince her not to cart us all to jail when I showed her the finger floating inside.  Real people don’t turn into liquid tar when you hit ‘em with a flame thrower.  Ignacio finally came around and admitted what had been going on but she still had that glazed look in her eye when headed back to her car.

 

Plus she still hadn’t holstered her gun.

 

“So you’re FBI huh?”  I was trying to lighten the mood a bit but her trigger finger twitched so it didn’t seem to be working.

 

“I should probably take you in,” she said. 

  
”For what—demon melting?”  I laughed and she glared at me.  But she put her gun back in her purse so that was something. 

 

“You’re insane,” she said.  “All of you—you must be—“

  
”Look.” I was irritated at this point—sick of people talking themselves out of shit that was right in front of their faces. “You want to call me crazy fine—hell, arrest me if it makes you feel better about the shit you just saw in there.  But that ain’t gonna change the fact that a girl just got turned into hell soup because her soul was nibbled on by a demon.”

 

“Would you listen to yourself,” Shelby yelled. “How the hell do you expect to believe that the thing you killed in that kitchen was a demon? I mean—“She shook her head and threw up her arms. “Maybe if I could have seen it for myself but a pan of nasty black shit with a finger swimming inside isn’t exactly conclusive proof.”

 

I nodded.  “You’re right it’s not.”  I reached out, grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face the restaurant.  “But for future reference—she looked a lot like _that_.”  Ignacio stood snarling in our direction—his eyes completely white and his teeth that gnarly shade of yellow.

 

“Dead by dawn,’ he growled.  Shelby started to panic—I could hear her gasping, trying to figure out what she was seeing.  I didn’t have time for her to get a grip.  Ignacio was coming fast and he looked hungry for a fresh soul. 

 

_“Adios mi amigo_.” I pulled the shotgun out of my jacket and aimed between his eyes. “I’m gonna miss those fucking chips.”  I fired and his head split open like a ripe watermelon.  He started to twitch and stumbled so I hit him again in the chest which put him down for good.  I turned to look at Shelby.  She’d already pulled her gun and was pointing at my chest.

 

“Aww, would you _come on_,” I yelled. “I just saved your damn life.”

 

“And now I’m gonna save yours,” she said. “Duck.”

 

I did what she said and she fired off two rounds.  The rest of the busboys were demon food too and I’d been too wrapped up in Ignacio to notice.  She was a good shot—hit ‘em all right between the eyes before she aimed for the gut.  They went down fast but would twitch every now and then.  I stood up and reloaded—finally able to get rid of the damn coat.

 

“That’s cute,” I said, winking at her little gun. “But it’s not gonna keep them down for long.”

 

She raised her eyebrow, spun around and stomped towards her car---_which_—I wasn’t expecting. “Hey I said.” My voice was a little higher and a tad more feminine than I would have liked. “You’re—you’re not gonna leave me out here.”

 

“Calm down,” she yelled.  Shelby popped open her trunk and rummaged inside, giving me a nice unobstructed view of thick, curvy thighs. 

 

Yeah I was still horny—it’d been three months remember.

 

She pulled out a shot gun—bigger and shinier than mine, and a shitload of bullets she spilled onto the hood.  It was irritating but sexy as hell.  No fair her brining the big gun.

 

“Must be nice being a—cop and all.”

 

Shelby glanced at me as she loaded the gun.  She walked to the first twitching busboy and aimed at his face. “Special Agent,” she said, before pulling the trigger and turning his head to jelly.

 

_That_ gave me a hard on.  I’m not gonna lie.

 

****

 

Shelby figured out what the metal hand was for after Ash gripped a cackling white eyed mail man by the throat and snapped it in two.  The sound of his bones breaking should have made her cringe but it didn’t.  It was exciting tearing through the streets like superheroes—killing the slobbering creatures that jumped out of every bush. 

 

He told her it was worse than usual tonight—maybe something in the water.  After her initial freak out she decided to throw out all the flashing red lights going off in her brain, screaming that this was all an elaborate hallucination.  It felt good to do something real—fight actual, in the flesh evil instead of wading through files, boring stakeouts and pudgy old assholes who thought she didn’t notice when they stared at her tits. 

 

Ash stared at her tits but it was more of a worshiping type of leer, which gave a boost to her self esteem. They were pretty damn nice if she did say so herself.

 

The car ride was bumpy (particularly after she rolled over two possessed baby boomers) and Ash suggested they lie low at his place until sunrise.  Seemed the Deadites weren’t too fond of sunlight and he’d fortified his home against their attacks a long time ago.  She had her doubts but when she saw the reinforced steel doors on every entrance she changed her mind. 

 

“Did you do all this yourself?”  Shelby looked at the complicated hinges on the windows in fascination.  “This is amazing.”

 

“Just a little thing I whipped up in my spare time,” he said, tossing the shotgun on his dining room table. “You know—when I’m not doing push-ups.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said. “So why are you working at the Java place—you could make a fortune selling this stuff.”

 

Ash strolled towards her and cocked his head with smile. “Sell what—a reinforced door? Who the hell needs something like that other than a demon magnet like myself?”

 

Shelby crossed her arms over her chest. “A bank?”

 

Ash laughed and then frowned. “Shit.”

 

Shelby jumped when something hit the front door—a loud thud—heavy like a body.  “They’re trying to get in,” she said.

 

“_Yeah_,” Ash said with a nod. “The door is strong but—“he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “It’s no guarantee.”

 

Shelby let her arms fall to her sides. “We could die here tonight,” she said. “You and me—together.”

 

“You’re right,” Ash said, lifting one eyebrow.  “This could it for us Shelby—our last chance to—say what we really feel.”

 

“That would be awful.” Shelby touched her throat. “I mean yes the door is built like a tank and the pounding stopped five minutes ago but—what if it’s all some elaborate trick?” She reached out and touched his upper arm—frowned and gave it a squeeze. “Shit you weren’t kidding about those push-ups.”  Shelby explored his body further—feeling out the hard angles underneath that ugly ass dress shirt he wore.  Yes he was using the situation to his advantage and a few hours ago she would have shot him in the ass for the semi-hard on he was currently sporting—but something about the way he’d carried that shotgun and handled those dead things like a motherfucking _man_ turned her on.  It was hot—sexy even.  She just hoped he didn’t fuck it up with some lame ass line like--

 

“Give me some sugar baby.” Ash grabbed her waist, pulled her hard against his body and captured her lips in a full on—toe curling kiss.

 

*****

 

All that time with no nookie had me eager to get down to business.  But I liked Shelby a little too much to give her the old pump and go special.  The t-shirt came off first and I got a nice eyeful of those nipples I’d been admiring all night.  They were big and brown just like I like ‘em.  After five full minutes of the licking, sucking and nibbling I had her sweating and squirming against the wall, yanking at my shirt so hard she popped a few buttons.

 

I got that one on special at K-Mart—so it was easy to stay focused on the task at hand.

 

Those tight jeans were next and the panties came down with ‘em.  Just a whiff her pussy and I was ready to shoot my load—but there was no way I was fucking this one up.  She had the best body I’d ever seen outside of cyberspace—and the fact that she was letting me touch it was an added bonus. 

 

I ate this woman like I’d been possessed by one of those brainless dead things.  Not an inch of that juicy pink center went un-licked and I sucked on her clit so hard she almost pulled my hair out at the roots.  Usually I would have drawn the line at the hair—but this chick was so hot I decided to let it slide. 

 

She came with my tongue buried to the hilt up her snatch. Shelby rode my face saying all kinds of freaky shit that made my dick jump and leak.  I was licking her cream when she shoved me off and reached for my pants, pulled them over my hips along with my boxer briefs and bent down to take me into her mouth. I’ve never gotten head like that before—not ever---not even two years back when I played poker with that toothless prostitute—

 

Uh--never mind.

 

I cupped her head with my good hand while she swallowed me down like a damn popsicle.  I couldn’t enjoy it for long---not if I planned to fuck this woman the way I wanted.  I pulled her up and pushed her over the back of the couch, until that gorgeous ass was lifted high in the air, begging me to tap it a few times.  I gripped each cheek in one hand (yes I used the metal one—she seemed to like it since she groaned for me to “use the fake one” to finger her clit) and pushed my dick inside that slick wet channel.  I fucked her slow at first but she started yelling _fuck me_ _harder_ and so I did, using muscles I didn’t know I had.  Pretty soon my brain stopped working and all I could think about was this warm, wet pussy and how I’d never wanted to fuck another woman as long as I lived.  She started to come and her muscle collapsed--squeezing my dick until it spurted and jumped in hot wet stream.   

 

We fell onto the couch and I glanced at the window, surprised to see daylight streaming in through the metal blinds. It was morning—we were safe—and I’d just had sex with the woman of my dreams. 

 

Yeah—I’d say things were definitely looking up. 

 

****

 

**Two days later**

 

Shelby stuffed the last of her things in a large cardboard box and glanced at her empty desk.  Special Agent Carlyle—her sometime partner and full time sexual harasser leaned over the divider separating her space from his.  “Hey,” he said, staring down her shirt. “Still can’t believe you’re really quitting.”

 

She shrugged and lifted the box higher in her arms. “I’m just not cut out for the bureau.”

 

He laughed and picked up a cup of coffee from his desk, slurping the scalding liquid down in front of her so quickly it made her cringe.  “Nobody’s cut out for the fucking bureau,” he said.  “But it’s a hell of a lot better than—what it’s you’re doin’---private security?”

 

“There’s a lot of money to be made in protecting people from evil Carlyle,” Shelby said.  He frowned and she walked past him, the box stuffed under her arm.  They were alone except for the cleaning lady, who vacuumed with her IPOD turned up so loud Shelby could hear Bruce Springsteen wailing about secret gardens. 

 

“Evil?” Carlyle placed his hands on his hips and shook his head.  Shelby glanced back at him and smiled.

  
”Yeah Carlyle—_evil._” 

 

He threw down his coffee cup as his eyes became solid white and his skin turned a rotted ashen shade of grey.  He rose into the air, his neck twitching as he growled with a voice two octaves deeper than his own.  “Fear me!”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Shelby reached into the box and pulled out a chainsaw.  She turned on the motor and beckoned him forward with two fingers. “Come get some.” 

 

He charged and she sank the blade deep into his chest—twisting and lifting until he fell lifeless to the ground.  Her suit was covered in blood and her hands so slick she had trouble lifting the blade.  Ash approached her from behind and handed her a towel.

 

“That’s my girl,” he said, watching as she toweled off.  “But you did forget one thing.”

 

Shelby frowned and then tapped her forehead.  “Of course.”  She leaned over the body, revved up the chainsaw and detached Carlyle’s head from his neck.  Once she’d completed her task she looked at Ash, eyes wide—waiting for his approval.  He shook his head and grabbed her around the waist. Shelby smiled when he spun her to his opposite side and lowered her into a dramatic dip as he perched his foot on Carlyle’s decapitated head. 

 

“That’s the sexiest beheading I ever seen,” Ash said.

 

“God I love it when you talk dirty.” Shelby grabbed his collar and yanked his face close to hers. “Let’s fuck on his desk.”

 

“That’s cold,” Ash said glancing at the wide eyed head beneath him. “But hot.  Drop your panties baby.”

 

****

 

Yeah—I know what you’re thinking.  How the hell did a triple skinny latte makin’ Java Jamboree barista end up with a hard ass federal agent girlfriend (with an amazing set of tits and legs up to her ears), not to mention the potential to make some serious cash for blowing away the same demons he let loose on the world in the first place?

 

Charisma my friend—sheer charisma—that and an unnatural gift for keeping my woman satisfied and happy.  Try to duplicate _that_ and you’ll be sadly disappointed—there’s only one Ashley J. Williams.

 

And my mamma stopped fucking in ’73. 

 

Hail to the king baby.


End file.
